


Doubt Blooms In The Wake

by vashiane



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Just A Short Mini-Series, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:52:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2368214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vashiane/pseuds/vashiane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first seed of doubt is planted at the age of ten, when his soulmate poem almost matches his childhood friend, but only almost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [I DID THE THING.](http://vashiane.tumblr.com/post/98421467626/but-what-about-a-soulmate-au-like-an-au-where-on)
> 
>  
> 
> Even if the thing is only a little drabble series (which I feel kind of bad about really, but between EOTE and school I doubt I'd have the time to actually make something massive out of it and I'm sorry for that :c).

 

> _eyes like ocean water_
> 
> _hair as black as night_
> 
> _a soul alone and fragile must be brought back to his light_

* * *

 

When Makoto’s nine, Haru’s hair is black and his eyes are blue.

There’s no need for any other words then - he likes the larger, fancier words he’s learning but they don’t fit Haru. He’s a complex person who hates complexities (but Makoto hopes he doesn’t hate himself), so the simple adjectives work for him.

 

When Makoto’s ten, Haru’s hair is now the color of night and his eyes are like ocean water.

Or at least, that’s what everyone around him says now, they describe him in those exact terms with a smile or an all-knowing wink and Makoto has to nod along. It was so much simpler back then, when Haru was black and blue and not night and water; back when Haru wasn’t his obligation but his friend.

 

When Makoto’s eleven, Haru’s hair is the color of night and his eyes are blue, because there is nothing beautiful and blue about the ocean any longer.

And it remains that way for years, as the ocean no longer soothes him and only seeks to drag under its waters everything he has ever come to care for.

 

When Makoto’s seventeen, Haru’s hair is the color of night and his eyes are like ocean water, because now the other half of the poem is showing promise. Haru is folding him on himself, and like fate apparently dictates, he is a soul alone and fragile and Makoto is his light.

Then why, why does the moment fall apart in his fingertips faster than he can comprehend, that moment among the fireworks when the offer to bring Haru with him dies on his tongue and chokes him? Why, why can’t he just say that he thinks of him more than he should, wants nothing more than his happiness but the words that do come out only blown out those heartbroken blue eyes more?

_We all love you, Haru. I do, I do more than I should and I don’t know if it’s because of fate or fate’s expectations but I’m bound to you -_

That is the moment when the darkness clears - but not for Haru, for him. He is truly bound to him, and that... that scares him.

It’s a thought that comes across him often, but only now among these flashing bursts of color does the understanding light up in his mind.

It’s the reason he picked the course he did, instead of navigating his choices around Haru’s like he’s so accustomed to doing. If they’re truly soulmates, they will find each other again and Rin was right - Haru was a deeply ingrained part of his life he couldn’t escape from.

So for once in his life, he’s selfish. For once in his life, he makes a decision concerning himself and himself only and here he is, still trying to add Haru at the last minute to appease him.

He doesn’t want Haru’s fragile soul to break.

But Haru throws his arm aside with a voice colder than the ice baths he takes, and tells him to, in no uncertain terms to “do whatever you want”.

It should have been freeing, it should have been the release he for some reason so desperately wanted, but instead Makoto’s curled up on his knees with a hole in his chest he can’t repair.

And Makoto’s still seventeen when the doubts finally come to a sharp, painful head, when he returns with a warmth like the sun, and the lingering departing glance he throws Rin's way. There's a better way to voice this, and it falls over his lips in a murmur, weakened by the nauseous spinning that accompanies the realization.

_He smiles like a soul that’s finally been brought to its light._

 

 

When Makoto’s eighteen, Haru’s hair is black and his eyes are blue, and Makoto doubts everything he’s ever been told.


	2. The Second Seed of Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto doesn't have Haruka's apathy, and he's envious of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU is cute until I think about Makoto.  
> Then it just saddens me.

 

> _underneath a diamond skin hides a heart of glass_
> 
> _weaknesses that co-align and make the wearers clash_
> 
> _a soul lit with passion you realize matches yours_
> 
> _you will find your solace when they lead you through closed doors_

 

It doesn’t take long to find the source of Haru’s growing irritation.

It’s all around him, both of them.

Back at home, it was a topic, but a topic that could only be brought up so many times before it grew old. Eventually the subject died, fallen to failed resurrections, and other than the occasional passing mention, it wasn’t spoken of. Here... here it’s plastered on billboards and broadcasted on commercials, all these blatant messages about finding one’s soulmate and there’s something about it that always sours Haru’s mood.

Makoto’s eighteen, tired and sore, paying no attention to the tea he’s left cooling and his head lies pressed against the wall. He’s half dozed, caught up in the sultry sweet allure of sleep when a sudden bang from across him jolts him awake. He rubs at his eyes and murmurs Haru’s name, just as Haru turns towards the door.

“Makoto let’s go home,” he says and adds nothing more.

There’s no use in asking why, especially not when he’s turned away like that with his back tense and his fingers tapping out slow, heavy rhythms against his chair. So Makoto quietly gathers up the muffin Haru didn’t touch (and the extra one he bought for himself) and guides him out. Whatever’s bothering him is bothering him deeply. This is a level of irritation that seeps far too wide throughout his skin to just be something he finds annoying.

And the growing, thickening silence as they walk, the silence that isn’t broken for nearly a full twenty minutes while they head towards the train.

It’s not until they board, with Haru’s head falling onto his shoulder and his arm wound around Makoto’s that he murmurs his discontent.

“I just can’t stand it. It’s everywhere,” he mutters, face half-buried into Makoto’s sweater. Makoto barely has to turn his head to ask before Haru dives into his explanation anyway, trembling fingers clenched around his sleeve.

“You don’t need your soulmate to live... everyone makes it sound so necessary. It’s your life, you live it by what you want to add to it, not what people say you need in it, right?”

 _Easy for you to say, Haru,_ Makoto thinks.

Makoto merely loops his arm over Haru’s shoulder and pulls him close, pressing his nose against soft black hair and trying to push back the boiling, crawling feeling under his skin.

When Makoto blinks, his vision turns green, and suddenly he’s younger again.

Makoto remembers being sixteen, watching his friend fall apart thanks to Rin Matsuoka and feeling sick inside. He’s sixteen and Haru keeps chasing after a thing that doesn’t want him - and he was right here, right here the entire time.

It feels like a constant in their relationship - Rin runs away, Haru chases, Makoto begrudgingly follows - and for once, he doesn’t want to be third.

_He wants to be someone’s first._

So Haruka, with his need for freedom and hatred of societal pressures, can hate the soulmate aspect all he wants. It doesn’t eliminate the fact that for Makoto, it’s the closest thing to first place he’ll ever get.

The conversation dies there, not to be resumed again until Haru twists open the knob to his apartment and Rin’s there. He throws his arms out wide and goes to slings them around their shoulders, but Makoto’s fast and unwilling and ducks out the way towards the couch.

He turns away, fast enough to miss their kiss and not fast enough to see Rin tip his chin up, and he slumps down against the top of the couch, burying his head into something soft. It should be the fabric, but that’s not fabric tickling his nose.

... It’s hair.

The head shifts underneath him, his nose hitting skin, and Makoto opens his eyes to see jagged black hair that feels softer than it looks, and bright turquoise eyes through long dark lashes.

“Hey,” he says, his voice a low, familiar rumble. “That’s my head.”

Makoto pulls his head back and stares into the familiar face of one he only saw for fleeting moments, one he only thought of for fleeting moments, and remembers that, yes, he does believe in fate.

And this is why.

“Yamazaki-san...” Makoto murmurs, the smallest of smiles appearing on his face. “I’m surprised you’re here.”

Sousuke’s answer is surprisingly dark for one with so neutral an expression, but that’s because Makoto’s green-eyed gaze falls on the flick of his wrist and not on the shifting colors in his eyes.

“So am I,” he says wearily. “So am I.”


End file.
